


“Love is a shield”, an Agent Kallus & Orson Krennic one-shot

by AzureAngel2



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-08-24 02:08:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16630835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AzureAngel2/pseuds/AzureAngel2
Summary: Summary: An Imperial agent comes back from a failed mission. His welcome is not exactly warm. But there is one exception.Length: one-shotTime frame: The story takes place in 3 BBY.Place of choice: an Imperial Star DestroyerDisclaimer: SW is owned by George Lucas, Lucas Ltd. and now The Walt Disney Company





	“Love is a shield”, an Agent Kallus & Orson Krennic one-shot

**Title:** _“Love is a shield”_ , an Agent Kallus & Orson Krennic one-shot

 

_Some people suppress you_  
_They parch you_  
_And reap a disaster_  
_Re-education for the infants_  
_Who demanded for an innocent instance_

_The great commandment_  
_Shows the contempt_  
_Between the world and their_  
_Embarrassing pavement_  
_Believe the scholars_  
_Read the readings_  
_Realize the man who says anything_

_The needies believe you_  
_They treat you_  
_Like survivors of a disaster_  
_Re-education for the infants_  
_Who demanded for an innocent instance_

_The great commandment_  
_Shows the contempt_  
_Between the world and their_  
_Embarrassing pavement_  
_Believe the scholars_  
_Read the readings_  
_Realize the man who says anything_

_The great commandment_  
_Shows the contempt_  
_Between the world and their_  
_Embarrassing pavement_  
_Believe the scholars_  
_Read the readings_  
_Realize the man who says anything_

 

Admiral Konstantine does not even look up from his data pad to meet your eyes. Your name comes from his lips like an automaton. There is no real meaning or emotion behind it. Just a couple of sounds. He passes you as if you were but a utility droid for him. Or even worse, the ghost of a fallen soldier. The battlefields of the Galactic Empire are full of them.

The fingers of your right hand cramp around the gift that Garazeb Orrelios gave you back on Bahryn. The warmth of the small meteorite has faded beyond recognition, but its hard surface is the only thing that feels real to you right now.

You stare after the vanishing figure of your commanding officer.

Soon, the ship corridor is empty again.

You cannot help but hang your head, while the universe around you grows colder and darker.

Camaraderie and appreciation seem outdated these days. Especially in military service.

You bet that nobody on top remembers the names of your squad that got slaughtered back on Onderon a couple of years ago. Brothers-in-arms you had been for one another, but for the Imperial authorities just canon fodder. Expendables, really.

A deep sigh shudders in your breast, vibrates into the rest of your body.

With closed eyes, you remember the events on a certain Geonosian moon.

You breathe heavily while it's all coming back to you.

One memory is brighter than all the others. It shows you the warmth and affection that the 'Ghost' crew had in stock for their missing comrade.

Cheering, the young man called Ezra Bridger had ran down the ship's ramp. The Imperial defector, Sabine Wren, had been by his side. With a mixture of relief, pride and wonder they had touched the large Lasat on his upper arms.

After a while you return to the present, gather all your remaining strength together and limp towards your quarters.

It takes you a little eternity to get there.

You activate the door mechanism.

Thick metal walls, indifferent and uncharitable, greet you. This place, cold and soulless, is not home. Your few personal belongings are stored up in a box, kept out of sight from prying eyes.

You place the meteorite on the empty shelf right above your bed. Then you sit down on the mattress, brooding. But not for long.

A familiar sound startles you. It comes from the console inside the frame of your bed.

You accept the HoloNet call without thinking. Just a handful of people have your private contact data.

_“G’day! How’s it going, mate?”_ asks the somewhat smoky voice of Orson Krennic, Director of the Advanced Weapons Research division of the Imperial Security Bureau.

Your foul mood is gone in an instant. “Okayish,” you offer, because you do not want to unsettle the director straight away.

“See, I need to be honest with you,” he answers, dropping his thick Chandrilan West Country accent. “I was explicitly ordered to give you this call.”

A smile spreads over your face. It comes straight from your heart. You know exactly who gave that order: your most favourite person in the entire universe.

“Oh my!” There is chuckling. “I am sorry to say that, Alexsandr, but someone with pink unicorn slippers is spying on us. I fear that the enemy is pressing against my bedroom door right now.”

Without taking your boots off, you lie down on the bed. “I wonder who that might be,” you let out and try to keep your laughter in.

“I have a guess, but then again it can't be our Cassandra, because you taught her to be as soundless as a night shadow.”

In the off you can hear a faint protest.

“Then stop lurking outside, little soldier, and say hello. This is your call any way. I am only the one paying for it.”

You hold your breath until your godchild's voice fills your army quarters. “Are you sure that you are okay, Uncle Alex?” she says, her anxiety palpable.

“She had one of those dreams, you know?” the girl's father cuts in.

Orson Krennic is playing down the problem at hand. Being highly Force sensitive, Cassandra must have had one of her visions. Considering who her biological uncle is, a powerful Sith lord, this was to be expected sooner or later. Now that she is in her teens, she needs to be protected more than ever.

“It was but a nightmare, sweetie,” you coo.

“But I saw you suffer,” Cassandra insists. “You fell and there was debris all around you.”

You give your best to sound convincing and calm. “It seems real to you, but believe me, your mind played tricks on you.”

“A Lasat was with you.” Faint anger swings in her words. “He gave you a glow stone.”

You run a hand over your face, glad that she cannot see you. She is good at reading others. You taught her interpreting micro-expressions, through the Facial Action Coding System, and body language. “Sweetie, normally, I kill Lasats,” you remind her, which is not a lie.

“Not this one. The two of you hugged.”

_“Blimey!”_ cajoles the director. “Then come around to Chandrila and I will give you a hug, too.”

You could answer that you would like to give him a black eye, but then again he is vital to you. One of your true friends.

Maximilian Veers is too busy leaving a path of destruction these days and keeping his son Zevulon in line.

Crix Madine has been acting strange of late, which makes you suspect that he will sooner or later defect just like his foster brothers Berch Teller and Dravits Draven.

“But Geonosis has moons,” Cassandra throws in unexpectedly. “And you have crashed on one of them.”

The girl's father comes to the rescue. “There are actually fifteen moons. Which one was it exactly? Did your dream specify that?”

She scoffs.

Orson Krennic is not finished with all his reasoning. “And why should a flying ace like Uncle Alex crash at all?” he asks.

“I...”

“Cassie, dear,” the director cuts in. “Whatever you believe to have seen in your dream was nothing more but a reflection of your fears.”

The tenderness in your friend's voice is hard to miss. Around his adopted daughter Orson Krennic is like a tame rancor. She makes him a much better, more likeable person.

“Listen, Alexsandr!” he says to you. “See if you can get a couple of days off after your latest boring mission. I know that there are other pressing matters, but still. My little soldier here needs to see you with her own eyes.”

In your head you calculate how long it might take you to have your leg completely healed by bacta. “I see what I can do.”

“Now we should stop to hold up your poor godfather any longer, Cassie dear. I bet he has plenty of work to do in the name of the Empire.”

Usually, you love that your friend is on the practical side, but right now you hate to depart with him and Cassandra.

“Uncle Alex?” she pipes up, sounding so young and vulnerable.

“Yes, sweetie?” You put as much affection as you can into those two words.

“I love you,” she whispers.

“Awww!” muses Orson Krennic. “And believe it or not, I could love you into bits and pieces, too, Blondie.”

Of course, the director had to destroy that tender moment with a lame joke. But then again he cannot help to be an absolute nerf herder. There is a certain reliability to that.

“Good night, Cassie!” Your heartbeat quickens by just saying her nickname. “Please try a different setting for me in your next dream! Something that involves a good game of sabacc or a fishing trip on Lake Sah'ot. Can you do that?”

“Yes,” she mumbles and you can almost see how she blushes on far away Coruscant.

“Orson?” you address the director.

“Yes, _mate_?”

“Take good care of my godchild, you old moron!” you scold him friendly, fully aware that he cannot help her visions.

“Then come down to my old man's farm and help me to protect the asset.”

He makes it sound rough, but you of all people know that Cassandra is more precious to him than is own life. A sentiment that you share.

The connection breaks off.

You stretch yourself out on the hard mattress, but then you are painfully reminded of your right leg.

If it were not for Cassandra and her father, you would not have taken chances with the Empire. You would have followed Garazeb Orrelios on board his ship straight away.

Of late you ask yourself if you are truly fighting on the right side of the civil war. All you ever believed in has been questioned by your superiors.

**Author's Note:**

> Sources:  
> The song “The great commandment” by Camouflage (1987)  
> Wookieepedia – The Star Wars Wiki  
> Jedipedia, a free German Star Wars-Encyclopaedia


End file.
